


Empty As The Cold Void

by Looncallinghome



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Torture, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Outer Space, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23639926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Looncallinghome/pseuds/Looncallinghome
Summary: Axiel is a defector. A traitor. He stole something of great importance, killed his brethren and commandeered a cargo ship filled with valuable assets. Now the Ex-Sidthe soldier finds himself adrift in space aboard a ship he never wanted, surrounded by people who have every right hate and fear him. But with the Sidthe intent on reclaiming their assets, Axiel will have to hold that there is truth in the old saying; the enemy of my enemy is my friend.
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First written piece of fiction. Additional tags and warnings to be added. Chapter warning for illness/infection. 
> 
> Not beta read. No scheduled updates. Just putting something out there.

An orche colored nest of feathers and shredded bedding greets AX-73 as he hefts himself up into the upper rafters of the control room. Wispy puffs of plumage like fine spiderwebs sent adrift as his body disturbs the thick humid air. Lodging themselves in his alabaster hair, sticking to the sweat on his brow, several finding their way up his nose. An uncomfortable feeling of little pins that has AX-73 swiping at the air with clawed hand to try to rid the confined space of unwanted irritants. The back of his throat feels itchy and hot from the dandruff and waxy feather particles and he realizes now that his mask is back on the main floor.

_An oversight. Incompetent._

Eyes hot from irritants, AX-73 crawls hands and knees down the mossy crawl space. Each slide of his knees against thick red moss wets the material of his pants thoroughly. Plant life thick and vibrant and soft against his palms as he crawls. Little white and blood-blue flowers like bells, smearing their pollen against him like a child’s fingerprint as he crawls towards the back of the vent. Supple, wet moss changing to sticky slime that webs disgustingly between his fingers the closer he gets to the infected space. 

The air vent is nearly completely blocked with thick, acrid smelling pus. Smacking AX-73 in the face with a force that sends him reeling, hitting his head against the low ceiling of crawl space. Added punishment for his stupidity, leaving behind the mask. Eyes watering and throating working around a dry gag, AX-73 takes in a forced breathe through his teeth before shoving his hand into the mucus plug. 

The infection gives way with a wet sucking noise, sucking AX-73’s arm up to the elbow, splattering his face with foul smelling gunk. He vomits before he can stop himself. Arm still partially buried in pus. 

_Failure is always punished._ Overseer Sindhi’s favored words coming unbidden to his mind and AX-73 nearly smiles. 

_Everything and nothing is different_ , he thinks. Just before another gag ends all other roaming thoughts. 

It takes less than half an arn for AX to clear the air vent of pollutants and set the fan back into motion. By the time the soldier drops from the rafters and back onto the main floor he’s thoroughly saturated. The sudden draft of semi-fresh air and AX’s reappearance attracting the attention of another of Moia’s occupants. Gwyne.

The metallic drag of the griffon’s raptor talons against the floor swings AX’s gaze up towards the far door. Partially hidden behind the open door, Gwyne peers out with a pair of nervous amber eyes. Gwyne has his bare arms crossed over his equally bare chest, his talon’s fingers wrapped around his biceps like a faux hug. As if to shield himself from AX’s wary stare. Gwyne’s clawed raptor feet tap a nervous staccato into the floor. Large orche-feathered tail just barely visible behind him, swaying slightly back and forth. 

The silence hangs for a moment longer before Gwyne, too nervous to approach further, lifts a tan hand and paints several signs into the air. Chirruping inquisitively. The dexterous flow of his fingers too quick for AX to pick up on but the soldier recognizes the sign for ‘Moia’, ‘bad’ and ‘sickness.’

Gwyne sniffs then, his delicately upturned nose lifting into the air to scent AX from a safe distance and AX knows the moment the griffon gets the answer to his question. Gwyne snorts, shaking his head like bird, his lips drawing back to show off a pair of lengthy canines in an otherwise unassumingly delicate face. A troubled, frightful look replacing the little snarl. Gwyne signs the words for ‘sickness’ again, taking a slight step around the doorframe. The griffon’s low, questioning croon adding an extra weight in the already heavy air that AX can feel pressing down upon him like a heavy cloak. 

“I cleared the vent...” Voice raspy in the quiet, AX continues after another questioning croon from Gwyne. “Infection will re-block it in under thirty-six arns.” Gwyne’s mournful little cry has the baby-fine hairs standing up at the base of AX’s neck. He wipes the splattered pus from his pale face with a clean corner of his sleeve, breaking eye contact with Gwyne as they both fall back to uncomfortable silence. 

Commandeering an Anwar was proving to be yet another example of his lack of foresight. For all they were desirable spacecraft, with their camouflage capabilities and starburst travel they were also sentient. Whales of space, some called them. Large, docile creatures, with a unbecoming stubborn streak and a penchant for catching colds.

AX could feel a great fatigue setting upon him then, a hard little ball forming in the pit of his stomach as the thing in the back of his mind pulsed with fear. Another of Gwyne’s croons pulled his attention back up, the griffon signing a question that took AX a moment to piece together. 

‘What do we do?’

Which was simply a question the solider had no answer for.


	2. Chapter 2

Place holder.


End file.
